


i wish i believed you (when you told me this was my home)

by inkwelled



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Future, Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Non-Graphic Violence, Patching Each Other Up, Shadow Weaver's A+ Parenting, after the war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 12:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: When Adora realizes it, it's already too late.





	i wish i believed you (when you told me this was my home)

**Author's Note:**

> me, resolutely ignoring the three multi-chapter fics that i made a promise to continue working and instead writing this at ten at night, while pretending to do my homework: huh?
> 
> seriously, i wrote this in under an hour and blame [this fantastic mashup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hiSIG0h8sJU) for this fic. this is nothing but angst, hurt/comfort, and a future where the horde is defeated and both catra and adora (kinda?) make up. basically, just the catradora ending i want so desperately.
> 
> title from [hard feelings/loveless by lorde](https://genius.com/Lorde-hard-feelings-loveless-lyrics), which is by all counts a catradora song and i cry daily. 
> 
> enjoy!

When Adora realizes it, it's already too late.

The Horde is defeated, and Catra smirks at her through glass walls of her cell. Blood drips from her cheek, from her forehead, beading up from the scratches down her arms.

"At least this is nicer than my last cage," she comments off-handedly, running a hand down the clear surface and Adora jolts. "But a cage is a cage, no matter how nice."

The cell is brightly lit from within, a cot in the center of the room. There's a small alcove, away from the prying eyes of the guards with a toilet and sink, and Adora watches her greatest enemy and best friend smirk at her from the other side of the glass.

"Nothing to say?" Catra purrs, voice distorted by the speaker in the wall connected to the glass, "How odd. You _always_ have something to say."

Adora swallows back tears, forces herself to look up. "I'm sorry."

Catra's smirk grows at that.

"For what?" she asks, pressing closer to the glass and Adora aches to reach out, through the surface between them and pull her in until her cold body warmed with Catra's.

She misses those long nights when Catra's tail would curl around her ankles and the bed wouldn't be empty.

"For leaving you."

Catra blinks, and _something_ flickers in her eyes before it's lost to her cackle. "Oh Adora," she sighs, tips of her claws digging into the glass, "I thought we were over this."

Adora looks up through swimming eyes. "I'm sorry for leaving my home, _you,_ behind. I didn't listen to you, ignored what Shadow Weaver was doing to you all those years, and then left you for dead. I should've done something long before I abandoned you at the Horde that night. I'm sorry, Catra."

Silence.

Inside the cell, Catra's shoulders slump. "Well, I wasn't the only one left for dead," she chuckles hollowly, and her claws scratch against the glass as she sighs.

"How long must this go on?"

"I don't know," Catra shrugs limply, slipping to the floor and crossing her legs. "But it's over, isn't it?"

Adora lowers herself too, until they're at eye level again. Catra would never put herself in a position below Adora - both literally and figuratively - so Adora doesn't hesitate when she loosens her white-knuckled grip on her sword and slides to the floor.

The cold cuts through everything else and she shivers, pulling the tatters of her jacket close. It's been three years, this fight, and she's never gotten rid of it. Adora remembers the look in Catra's eye when their gazes met across the battlefields that morning, before the fight that led to _this._

 _This, what?_ Adora wonders.

"They're going to try you for all the crimes committed by the Horde," she says then, watching as Catra's posture doesn't change but the light blinks out of her eyes, "because of your position in power and Hordak's death means all the blame might fall to you."

Catra snorts, but it's the hollowest sound Adora's ever heard. "He was never any good anyway," she says, looking everywhere except Adora.

Adora rests her hand on the glass.

"Catra," she whispers, and Catra slams her eyes closed.

"Shut up, Adora," she hisses, "I don't need your pity. I made my decision in this war, so did you."

"Catra."

The fight drains out of her, then. Catra's spine falls, almost as if she's falling in on herself, before wincing.

"You said you were fine."

Catra's grimaces, showing teeth. "I'm fine," she spits, but her hand comes up to cover her side. Even with the dark red of her bodysuit, Adora spots a wetter, darker spot and jolts.

_How did she not notice?_

It seems time has dulled her ability to read Catra's every movement.

Adora casts a furtive glance at the room behind her. She knows there's guards beyond the door, but they won't come in unless she calls.

"I'm coming in."

Slamming her hand down on the scanner, Adora grabs the vial of salve and the roll of bandages Bow had pressed into her hands as she rushed towards where the guards were escorting Catra.

 _Thank you,_ she had whispered, and Bow had nodded.

 _Go,_ he had mouthed, and she had pressed a kiss to his cheek before running off after Catra's echoing voice down the long corridors of Bright Moon's palace.

The Rebellion had won. But at what cost?

"You're not worried about me attacking?" Catra said casually, leaning back against the cot, but her voice wavered. Whether with concern or blood loss, Adora didn't know, but the glass slid open and closed cleanly around her.

"No," she says, approaching Catra and lowering herself to the floor with a wince of her own. "Because you're too banged up to attack and I'm too tired to fend you off if you do."

Catra laughs dully, but with no ill feeling. Maybe because she doesn't feel it, despite the cage, maybe because she's too tired to feel _anything._ Every bone in her body is screaming in a way she hasn't felt in ages, and she can barely look at Adora when she uncorks the salve.

"Good point," she huffs, and Adora's smile is small. Small, but there.

"Hold still."

Catra hisses at the first contact of Adora's cold hands against her side, but she relaxes into the touch. Quietly, she curses her traitor body, accepting and [craving] Adora's touch, even after all these years.

Some things, it seems, she can't kill.

No matter how hard she tries.

Or wants to.

 _Maybe you never wanted to,_ something whispers in the back of her mind and she banishes the thought as Adora's nimble fingers dance over the tattered rip in the side of her clothes.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Adora's voice is soft, too soft. Catra leans her head back against the side of the cot, gaze pinned to the ceiling, anything to escape the sad eyes Adora is most likely giving her right now.

The bandages wrap around her side in a comforting, repetitive motion, and Catra lets her eyes flutter closed.

"No one would've cared," she says, trying for uncaring and failing spectacularly, "and it's not that bad. I've dealt with worse before."

Her voice drops. "Not that you would know."

Adora sighs next to her, and Catra convinces herself it's her imagination when she feels a palm beneath her chin. It's gone in the next instant, and Catra suddenly feels naked underneath the bright lights, Adora's hands against her skin.

Every brush of her fingers makes Catra's skin roll pleasantly. She almost craves the touch before she digs her claws into the skin of her fists, chasing away the craving with the sharp tang of pain.

"Catra."

Adora's hands suddenly leave her side and instead creep down her arm. Catra tenses at the touch, unsure, until Adora's fingers slip around her fist and pry it open slowly. "Catra."

Her eyes tremble open. "Please," she whispers, and Adora's breath leaves her all at once.

"Alright," Adora whispers back and brushes a lock of Catra's hair back before bringing her neck forward and claiming her lips.

Catra melts into the touch. The exhaustion is bone-deep, and she slumps into Adora's arms as she does the same. Suddenly, they're holding each other up, and Catra catches Adora's bottom lip between hers.

"Catra," Adora pants lightly and slips her fingers between the other woman's. "Catra."

Adora tastes blank, like the dust of the battlefield and the metal of her sword. Drunk off the taste of her, Catra lets a purr roll through her body as Adora smoothes down her hair.

They pull back, and Adora rests her forehead on Catra's as she catches her breath. For a moment, they both breathe, inside the glass cage Catra had reconciled the rest of her life in.

"I'll talk to them," Adora whispers shakily, rubbing a thumb over Catra's cheekbone, and Catra pushes into the touch.

"Okay," she says, equally shaky, and Adora's legs are wobbly when she stands. She tucks the empty vial of salve under her arm, looks down at where Catra is still propped up against the cot's side.

"I'll be back with more bandages."

Catra catches her hand. "Adora, wait."

Adora freezes suddenly, and Catra's shoulders tense. "I'm sorry," she whispers, eyes falling to the floor, unable to face Adora with the tears stopping up her throat. "I'm sorry."

Adora squeezes her hand. "I know," she says quietly, "I know. I forgive you. Can you forgive me?"

There's silence for a moment before Catra looks up, tears shining on her lower lashline. "Yes," she chokes out, and even though her bruised - and possibly cracked ribs scream - Adora sweeps down and catches her lips in a desperate, sweeping motion.

"We'll be okay."

Catra breathes out, breathes in the scent of her greatest enemy, her best friend, the only person she's ever trusted, the love of her life.

For the first time in three years - since Adora snuck out and promised to be back before the morning, since Adora looked her in the eye and swore _she was never coming back, she couldn't,_ since she looked down at her from a cliff and shattered the last string in her lungs tugging her to Adora - Catra believes her.

_They'll be okay._

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this year. There's still the trial, the body count to finish tallying up, wounds and broken bones to be knitted back together. There's still tracking down the parents of all the _recruits_ \- children - Shadow Weaver had stolen from their rightful families, there's still the service, finally, for King Micah, laying him and his memory to rest properly, still for Glimmer and Queen Angella to mourn.

But one day, they'll _all_ be okay.

Catra finds that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> come scream with me about these two and their slowburn on my [twitter,](https://twitter.com/adorascatrq) adorascatrq!


End file.
